Shivering Time
From the hooded secrecy of its fear,
even as it held tight its fading vacuum of time,
the hesitant voice whispered…
“All right, speak to me of your invincible cold.”
Shivering time leaned forward
as its heavy clouds of yesterday
billowed thin toward evaporation’s threat.
The mirage for redemption
splashed forth from humankind’s wanton caldrons of illusion,
well aware satiation of truth only comes
after the regurgitation of fakery and the embracing of flames.
“But panic not,”
said Shivering Time. “Rather know
the inferno of light''s rhythm and tempo
lives not by the shackles of enslavement,
nor the taunting of control,
but rather like life''s breath
where imprisonment is not an option.”
“Allow it to sustain,
even as you rise into the unknown,
for lest you trust the illumine,
the abyss of icy coals invites only darkness.
Know the realm where deceptions lurk,
tears patiently wait and louder screams prepare to
challenge your blackened void of choice.”
“But the journey
will it be long?”
“Never ride life on the easy rein,
Instead, seek out freedom where the sweat of loins
presses hard into the girth of destinations unknown,
even as chthonic demons await beneath,
their honeycombs with scorpionic tails at the ready
should you writhe and tumble
into their poisoned promises of sweet nectar.”
“And signs?
Will there be warnings?”
“Goad your mount, for such dependence is folly.
Trust rather the pure allegory of the moment,
that ever-faithful place void of manipulation or planning.
Gallop past the brambles of impatience
toward the realm of an ever-faithful motherly offer.
Allow the threshold of death to always be with you,
trusting the last step across is into that time
where the shedding of fears brings solace,
even as you savor what once was.”
The message completed; Shivering Time returned
to its past of frigid crystallization.
After watching a short editorial comment on TV last night, I was left with a renewed appreciation of both life and death, especially the inherent paradox...thus, a fantasized short piece of posetry flash fiction.
Telling everyone to have a more, down-to-earth, existence where they deal with real danger rather than the calming kind of warmth that will be too hot to bear. Taking the easy route provided by technology and fossil fuels to heat everything up and make us think we are healthier as a result of being supported by the burning desires of what lies below.
Coming soon to haunt us like never before shivering time ever did with its occasional ice ages that made us very strong in the first place. As we grow weaker…
Ron
The Salvador Dali painting: "The Portrait of my Dead Brother"
A plethora of Escher paintings. In particular, "Another World 2"
And lastly, Shakespeare:
"Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind;
What thou dost know of noble Gloucester's death,
Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd
The bloody office of his timeless end."
A piece that stimulates the synapses. Well done. r